


Reflection

by glim



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Caretaking, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-05 04:21:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10297391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim
Summary: If there’s anyone who knows what Steve’s like when he’s getting sick, it’s Bucky.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "Are you coming down with something?" with pre!serum Steve and Bucky.

“Well, it’s the fifteenth,” Bucky says, slicking his hair back, half-watching himself and half-watching Steve in the mirror, “so that means I get paid, and paid means I can pick up something different for dinner.”

“We have leftovers. That’s fine…” Steve’s doing up his necktie, a frown of confusion between his eyebrows, and he glances over at Bucky when Bucky catches his eye in the mirror. “What?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. You.” Steve adds and pushes Bucky aside so he can lean in closer to the mirror to knot his tie and fix his hair. “You…” He pauses, coughs against his shoulder, and nudges Bucky over some more before he can say something to Steve. “Taking up all the room.”

“Yeah? Whose bathroom is this?”

“Mine. You said it was ‘all mine’ when I moved in.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but fuck, Steve always knows how to hit him in the small, vulnerable places. Because, yeah, he said that, and he meant it, too, and sure he’d like to be able to give Steve something more than a two-room apartment on the third floor, but… Here they are, third-floor walk up, close enough to both their jobs. They manage.

He leans in to kiss Steve’s hair and moves away before Steve can push him away.

“C'mon, Stevie, dinner? Chicken? If I can get any?”

Steve gives that little frown again, nods, and turns aside to cough into his sleeve a few times in a row. There’s a flush over his cheeks when he looks up, but he sighs and shakes his head when Bucky returns his earlier frown.

“Yeah, chicken’s fine. Whatever you want,” Steve says, his voice soft and rough, and he even smiles when Bucky kisses his hair once more, mussing it in the process. “Hey… if you go to the market, come by and walk home with me?”

“Sure. You’re not staying late?”

Steve shakes his head, and clears his throat. The frown threatens to crease between his eyebrows, but he sighs and rests his hand against his chest instead. There’s a quiet tremble in his breath, uncertain, like he might start coughing again, but he swallows hard, and Bucky can tell he’s pushing back the feeling.

“I should be done by five, maybe a little after, so if you come by on your way home…” Steve clears his throat again; Bucky can hear the stuffy little catch at the back of his voice.

“Don’t let them keep you, okay?” Bucky avoids Steve’s gaze in the mirror, but rests a hand on his shoulder and rubs warmly. “Are you coming down with something?” he asks after another cough and a sniffle that Steve tries to hide by turning his face into his shoulder.

“No.” The reply’s automatic, defensive, but he doesn’t shrug Bucky’s hand off the way he sometimes does. He leans into it, a little, and shrugs when he has to turn aside and sniffle again.

Bucky doesn’t press the matter, mostly because if there’s anyone who knows what Steve’s like when he’s getting sick, it’s Bucky. God, he knows Steve better than he knows himself, and he knows that rough little sound at the back of Steve’s coughs, he knows it’s not just his asthma playing up from the cold, dry winter air.

He’s already coughing and sniffling, and there’s a shivery sounding sneeze after he pulls on his coat, and another before he recovers from the first. He’s sniffly and a little bleary looking when he’s done, but he looks grateful when Bucky hands Steve his own handkerchief. 

“Really, don’t let them keep you late today…” Bucky rests both his hands on Steve’s shoulders, waits for him to agree, and then pulls him into a quick, tight hug.

Steve yields to that easily, and presses his face into Bucky’s shoulder before letting go. “You worry about everything too much.”

“You always say that.” He regards Steve for a second, then brushes Steve’s hair out of his eyes. “We manage, though, right?”

“Yeah, we do.” Steve nods, smiles that big smile he always saves for moments like this, and then they’re ready to leave for work.


End file.
